Because Thorns Have Roses
by xenokattz
Summary: While riding the bus to one of the Worthington Cure Clinics, Rogue briefly absorbs a mutant thief intent on stealing some of the cure to sell as black market weapons. Her reaction leads Rogue to a war on Alcatraz Island and a discovery of her self worth.
1. Part 1

**Part 1**

* * *

Mohair sweaters and linen shirts had no business being in a bus this ratty. Rogue didn't use to notice weird details but she picked up the habit of cataloguing her surroundings somewhere between absorbing Erik and absorbing Logan. She sniffed suspiciously at the idea of someone wearing brand name clothing in a refurbished airport shuttle but immediately regretted the action. The mingling smells made her head hurt. 

Mohair Sweater hitched his leather overnight bag higher on his shoulder and adjusted his shades. _Serengeti's,_ whispered the banker she'd absorbed in Dallas way back when, _at least two hundred dollars._ Rogue looked around at the rest of the passengers. The closest they all got to luxury goods was window shopping at Fourth.

To her dismay, Mohair Sweater headed straight for the empty window seat beside her. He smiled in greeting, his whiskers darkening the laugh lines around his mouth, and dipped his head as he slipped in beside her. At that moment, the bus jerked forward. Rogue tilted her head away but as luck would have it, he fell in the same direction. When his cheek pressed against hers, she had the impression of sharp stubble, cinnamon-flavoured breath, and a cool, woody cologne before memories shot into her brain.

_11093985-0D304-90104_

_A strangely shaped hand-gun levelled at a target, shooting out empty darts._

_A woman's silk-clad toes sliding up her leg, tickling her knee._

_"I don't care who it cures; we've already got orders for 'em on the street."_

_A card sizzled in her hand, absorbing the heat that slid down her arm._

_Laughing. Sunshine. Butter on toast._

_The gun, darts now loaded with light green liquid, pointed at her. "Any volunteers?"_

_A quick check through her blackberry showed a five-figure increase in her bank account._

_"You don't want to mess this one up, hommes. We're talking the big job."_

_Café au lait on the Canal St. Ferry. Salt in the air._

_The card left her hands, whining slightly, leaving a trail of bright pink and orange as it sailed to its target._

_The guns rested against a dozen others on a wire rack._

Rogue pushed him away, her eyes burning. Coughing, he flopped obligingly beside her, his bag forgotten at her feet.

"Is that what you do?" he asked when he got his breath back.

"I'm sorry?" she replied.

"That weird... brain drain when I touched you. Is that your mutant power?"

Stiffly, she nodded.

"Does it hurt?"

"Does it hurt you?" she asked in return.

He shrugged. "Kind of. It's like an ache in my skull, a pressure, and then pins and needles up... uh..."

He was starting intently below her neck. Rogue reared back. "What?"

"You might want to let go the armrests, sheri

Rogue jerked her arms back. The plastic armrests-- formerly navy blue, now neon magenta-- glowed with heat. Before she could ask what the hell was going on, her seatmate pressed his hands against them. His teeth bared, he took a deep breath and pulled the glow into his body. His fingers shone translucently, the nails shadowed black and the narrow bones briefly outlined in orange. With a barely audible series of snaps, the armrests stopped glowing, leaving only tiny trails of smoke and burnt polyester threads.

The other passengers diverted their stares and shifted as far away as the confines of the bus would allow.

"Thanks," Rogue said.

He inclined his head again. "So, not just a brain drain."

"Not exactly."

* * *

The bus rumbled over the Vermont border before he talked to her again. "Robin Sands." He held his hand out. 

Ingrained politeness forced Rogue to accept the handshake. "Marian Locksley."  
He smirked. "No, you're not."

"Neither are you," she retorted.

Instead of getting angry, his smile widened. "So, it's a brain drain, a power copying and a little bit of telepathy. You're a multi-talented lady. Seems a waste."

Rogue shrugged, unwilling to reveal any more than he did. Pulling her hood over her head, she turned away and closed her eyes. It would be a long while yet before they got to Maryland.

* * *

_"How're you supposed to think of nothing?" asked Rogue, "unless you're really literal and 'nothing' means the word 'nothing', not actually no things."_

_Although her eyes were shut, Rogue knew that Dr. Grey was smiling. "Thinking of nothing is for advanced studies. Try simply concentrating on your body. Be aware of your toes, from your big toe all the way to the smallest on. Think of the texture of your socks on them. Think of the pressure of the floor on your heel."_

_Rogue wriggled. She couldn't help it. Every time she tried to concentrate, she thought of something else like how her boots rubbed up against her big toe. Then the thought of boots would make her think of the cool vintage shop just downtown. Then _that _would turn into lunch plans with Bobby--_

_"Rogue, you're thinking too hard."_

_"Sorry. I was just thinking about parking."_

_"So I gathered." Her voice went dry. "I know it's hard but you have a very special gift. With that come obligations, one of which is training to use it."_

_Rogue dared to peer through her lashes. Dr Grey lay beside her, completely boneless. "How do you think I can use this stupid power?" she asked._

_"Don't under estimate your power, Rogue. I have a feeling that it'll turn into a gift in more ways than one."_

* * *

Her dreams, as was always the case after using her powers, played out memories, her own were first, then absorbed memories from oldest to the most recent-- Erik intently studying his political science textbook, the taste of crappy fake Cubans that Logan bought at a rest-stop in Regina, the familiar diner food that Lloyd the Trucker experienced nine months out of the year. Some were so vivid that Rogue even remembered the smells. 

With a hypnic jerk, the new guy's memories flowed through her. It was a bit like riding a rollercoaster with sensations and images passing by so quickly that processing them all was impossible. Certain memories stuck out, usually the most recent or the ones that were foremost in his head.

Those weird, flat guns featured in everything as well as the logo for Worthington Pharmaceutical Labs. The long line of numbers was a bank account-- that was handy, Rogue reflected, especially if he really had that much money. It explained the mohair sweater.

The bus jerked to a stop, throwing Rogue awake. "Robin" was watching her, his shades hiding his expression. "We're here," he said.

"I can see that," Rogue said, curtly. She shouldered her bag and quite obviously snubbed him as soon as she wedged into the aisle. His scent-- cinnamon gum, woodsy cologne, et cetera-- clung to her clothes, bringing hazy threads of his memories back up to her consciousness. Rogue swatted them away like midges.

She didn't see him in the line up, thankfully, but that didn't lift the strange discomfort that sped her pulse double time. Rogue shifted from one foot to the other, needing to get into the building for reasons other than getting the cure. She had to get inside the building. She had to get _something_ inside the building.

Irritated, she shook herself. _He_ needed to get something in the building, not her. She was feeling Robin's emotions.

"Number three-ninety-seven." An unseen receptionist called out numbers on the other side of the room, her voice barely audible amongst the shuffling and soft chatting in the room. Once in a while, someone burst out in laughter or tears and the background noise escalated until someone in the speaker systems calmly asked for quiet again.

The line snaked several times across the room like a line up at an amusement park. Nylon ropes marked the winding path to the seated area, the main source of the laughter and crying and the bored receptionists. A woman beside Rogue shushed her wailing child. The little girl had a bone pushing slowly out of her forehead; her skin split at the apex of the bone even as Rogue watched. And she thought her power was bad.

It wasn't until a cart of boxed syringes passed her that Rogue made the connection between the weird gun in Robin's mind and the sense of danger in her gut. Those darts with the green liquid, they were filled with the cure. Someone had made a weapon out of the cure and Robin intended to steal the cure for ammo.

Anger fired in her belly. How could he arm people against mutants? All for money? Just when she thought a body couldn't get any lower, people went and invented a new low. She twisted her bag strap, her hands clammy. A peek at the crowd revealed several armed guards pacing the waiting room and the half-concrete English garden outside. No Robin in sight but then if he was as rich as that bank account said, he was probably a pro.

"Excuse me, sir." Rogue tapped one of the guards lightly.

"Miss?"

"There's a guy you all should look out for," she said. "I think he's going to try to steal some of the cure."

The soldier opened his mouth, presumably to recite the usual comforting pap, but caught himself as he realised exactly who he was guarding. "Your... powers showed this?"

"Yessir," said Rogue. "He's got reddish-brown hair, a couple inches taller than you, wearing a grey mohair sweater and jeans. He had a black overnight bag, too, leather."

The solider nodded. "Thank you for the information. I'll spread the word." And he did, speaking some shorthand language into the crackle and static of the mic pinned to his shoulder. It didn't ease Rogue's discomfort. She knew Robin was good because _he_ knew he was good.

"Number four-thirty," the receptionist called out.

A seated woman holding a jacket over her humped back rose, just a few feet away from Rogue. Another ten minutes or so and she'd be in the seated section with a number. Maybe in half an hour, she'd take the cure. Somewhere in the building, a man who bought mohair sweaters with blood money was on his way to make another million crippling mutants who didn't want to lose their powers.

"Number four-thirty-one."

Oh screw it.

Rogue slipped out of the line.

* * *

She couldn't control the powers but she'd learned, with the professor's help, to control the voices. Rogue focused on Robin's distinctive scent to help her focus (with Logan, she had to smell tobacco; with Erik, she made herself a sandwich with Emmental cheese melted over tomatoes and lightly buttered bread). The roller coaster in her head slowed just enough to glean more information. 

A door with a plastic name plate flashed in her head. Rogue held onto that thought and followed it backwards until she spotted something familiar. In this case, it was a potted palm a few yards past the nylon rope lines.

"Where are you going?" asked one of the guards.

"I need to use the restroom," Rogue said, twisting her expression into something like embarrassment. After he pointed out the ladies' room out, she smiled her thanks and made a beeline for it. The potted palm was in the same direction.

The emergency staircase tugged at her borrowed memory. Rogue quickly switched directions, pushing the door open then cringing in wait for an alarm to go off. When nothing interrupted the crowds' murmuring, she shut the door and leaned against it. A glance up the stairs did nothing, nor did looking down to the basement. As an experiment, Rogue skipped up one stairwell, then paused, waiting for a sense of rightness. After a few seconds, she ran down. And kept running. Her eyes saw soft leather shoes taking the steps two at a time instead of her clunky slouch boots.

A sign proclaiming "Staff only beyond this point" flashed in her head. Well, no freakin' kidding. She followed the stairs until the sign showed up on the last landing. She turned the knob.

Nothing happened. Rogue tried to door again. It was locked fast.

Great. So much for her heroics. Rogue took another big sniff of her lapels, hoping there was enough of Robin's scent in her jacket to trigger more memories. Short flicks about lock-picking and hot-wring flipped through her head but he had tools that she didn't have. Hell, she didn't even have a pin to hold her hair up.

The only thing left to do was run back upstairs and tell the guards. Rogue scratched at her shoulder. This was a fantastic waste of time and she'd even lost her place in line because of it. As she turned for the stairs, the door clicked open. Robin popped his head out, one arm clutching his leather bag close to his chest.

They stared at each other for a second that lasted for an eternity.

"Catch." Robin hurled the back at Rogue, who caught it automatically. Just as suddenly, she threw the back right back, grazing his head as he dove for her legs.

"Ow!" Rogue came down on hard on the steps, one edge catching her butt and the other smacking her left side.

"Apologies, sheri, but I got places to be." Snagging the fallen bag, Robin ran up the stairs. Rogue swiped at his legs. He leapt over her easily but while he was in midair, she surged upward. Her head butted his knee and he went down on his elbows.

Nimbly, Rogue climbed over his prone body to take the bag. "Not without this medicine, you' don't."

"Hey! I stole that fair and square." Robin popped up on his knees and swung a leg out to kick Rogue down. She jumped over it but couldn't quite escape his arm, which he'd swung stiffly in the opposite direction. She threw herself the only direction that was free-- right at him.

Rogue's bare forearm made contact with Robin's face. She started to jerk back then, on second thought, kept the contact.

Robin-- no, his name was Remy-- gasped for breath. Rogue's hands grew warm just like in the bus when her armrests started to glow. In a panic, she released him, afraid to turn the bag into a giant bomb.

Remy dragged himself upright and leaned against the wall. "Fool girl," he said, still panting. "They're gonna be here any minute."

"That was the point," she said. "Get the guards in here and take you away. How could you arm those awful cure guns? Do you know what'll happen if that kind of weapon gets out? Or do you even care at all?"

He laughed cynically. "You think just 'cause the army comes in that it'll be the end of those guns? Naw, you bet they got their own prototypes waitin' in the wings. Me, I'm just wanting my cut to make sure I'm comfy when all hell breaks lose."

"You're a real humanitarian."

"We live in tenuous times, sheri. The only thing you can count on right now is money in an off-shore account."

Several heavy combat boots thundered down the stairwell. His lips tightening, Robin-Remy-Whatever looked up.

"Come on, sheri. Have a heart for a fellow mutant." His smile was perfectly calculated to charm the pants off a nun but Rogue still had him clinging to her consciousness.

"You're not going to do anything," she said. "I know. You'd rather run than fight."

"Fighting ruins my clothes," he said. "And I bruise easy."

The combat boots drew closer. The guards were just a floor above them now. Remy clenched his jaw. Seeing his desperation, Rogue braced herself for action.

He didn't react quite as she expected.

With a whispered "fuck it", Remy jumped back to the bottom of the stairwell, the same direction he'd come from. The first of the guards were visible now. Remy grasped the knob and began charging just as Rogue, guessing at his plan, reached out to try to stop him. But it was too late.

The lock exploded. Rogue covered her eyes against the debris at the same time that Remy must have thrown something at the guards because she felt heat at the nape of her neck as well as her face. A second, larger explosion threw her forward.

Remy slid past her, tugging at the bag. Well, Rogue was not going to have that! Bad enough he was getting away; she was _not_ going to let him sell these cure guns to the black market. Calling up as much strength as she could, she yanked the bag's handles back.

Strangely. Remy didn't put up much of a fight. At her first hard tug, he let go, making her stumble backwards. He bolted for the door. Swinging the bag's straps around her arms like a backpack, Rogue dashed after him. Shouts of "Halt!" slipped past the doors but she was too intent on catching up.

Metal and wooden crates towered over her, forming a labyrinth that Remy seemed disgustingly familiar with. Rogue didn't have time to access his memories; even if he'd _had_ something about this place, it was all she could do to keep him in her sights. The minute she got back to the school, Rogue swore she'd work on her cardio endurance.

In the time that it took for the promise to flit through her mind, Remy had disappeared. Rogue let out a frustrated growl. Great. Just peachy. She whirled on her toes, ears cocked for any sound but the crates were stacked too high.

_So you'll just have to get above them, won't you?_

Rogue clambered up the nearest wall of crates. Thankfully, the top-most one came with a built-in ladder. Cigarette butts littered the roof along with dust and something that she really hoped was dried bird crap. From this height, she could see the guards filing in and fanning out like an oil slick. Remy, unfortunately was no where in sight.

She could really use Logan's sensitive nose right now. Rogue patted down her pockets even knowing that she'd left her cigar stub at home. So much for boosting her memory. Then the cigarette butts caught her eye.

Gross.

They weren't quite the same thing and she didn't even want to think about where they'd been but desperate times called for desperate measures. Rogue picked one up, thankful for her gloves for once, and brought it up to her nose. She inhaled deeply.

"Bleh!" She gagged. Lordy, that was vile but at least her brain was firing. Rogue caught hold of the memory of the scent and, her nose wrinkled, sniffed at the cigarette butt again.

_Look for signs that someone's been disturbing things,_ Logan whispered in her head.

_Like what?_ Rogue wanted to scream. _There aren't any broken twigs I can spot around here._

_Scuffmarks on the ground, handprints on the dust on the crates-- everything leaves a track._

"Up there!" a guard called out.

Rogue jumped off the crate into a shoulder roll and set off running as soon as the ow! pressure, ow, ow, ow went away. Disturbances, she had to look for disturbances.

_You won't find 'em here. Go to the last place you saw him._

_There are guards there!_

_So what? You want to find him or not?_

Tight with the strain of the landing, Rogue ran towards the entrance. _I'm supposed to look for footprints on concrete. _She sighed. _This was a stupid idea. I should've just let the guards--_

A large skid mark trailed from a small puddle of oil. Rogue didn't run in that direction and besides, the heel was too big to be her footprint. Looking down one aisle, she spotted a faint, crescent-shaped gloss. Cinnamon gum teased her nostrils.

With the guards approaching, she put all her energy into running. The clarity of panic settled in her stomach and she felt that usual weird sense of calm, like her consciousness went and gave upon her already and just wanted to float above this wreck of a situation. Maybe that was how she spotted Remy's trail so easily and why, after taking only short glances at the clues, she charged on ahead.

Or it could have been the blinking, red "Exit" sign at the back of the room.

She barrelled through, shoulder striking the door first and slamming it open. Rogue found herself in a small courtyard surrounded one three sides by more skyscrapers flush with windows. Remy was nowhere in sight. The most logical way for him to have gone was out the alley but somehow Rogue couldn't see him taking the logical way out. It was too easy.

Tracking; she had to go back to tracking. But it was way too hard to track anything outside with no dust or weird oily puddles to follow. The cracked grey asphalt just wasn't any good at maintaining tracks. While Rogue scrounged for a clue, the guards burst through the door.

"Freeze!" they yelled in stereo.

Rogue's first instinct was to run for it. Logic tamped that down and she raised her hands up in surrender.

"Put the bag down!" a faceless guard ordered. "Do it slowly and keep both hands visible at all times!"

Before Rogue could obey the orders, someone grasped her wrist and yanked her up off her feet. Half a dozen pink and orange missiles rained down on the guards, throwing up pebbles, asphalt flakes and smoke to cover her unexpected escape.

"Don't let the bag go," said Remy and she knew it was Remy because there was no mistaking that voice: smooth as blackstrap rum tinged lightly with self-deprecation. Her knee banged against brick as he hauled her in through a narrow second story window. "Good that you're a little thing, ain't it?"

Bullets peppered the wall. Rogue grabbed Remy's sleeve and covered him from the fire but he wriggled away.

"Where are you going?" she hissed.

"You want to get hit?" he asked as he crab-crawled to the door. "C'mon, sweet thing. This way."

"I'm _not_ helping you get away," said Rogue.

"Okay, but you ain't gonna stick around and get shot either, are you?"

He had a point. Securing the bag on her back. Rogue followed him out. He led her to another window on the other side of the building just behind the alley and up the fire escape. What was with this guy and rooftops?

"The guards are gonna see us that way," she said.

He swung a leg around the thin ladder. "I'll be real quiet."

"I wasn't worried about you," Rogue muttered as she followed.

Sure enough a guard looked up eventually and called a few of his buddies over. Within minutes, the rooftop clinked with bullets, leaving Rogue to cringe and pray their weapons couldn't hit anything this far up. God hadn't exactly been listening to her prayers lately so even though she didn't get hit, a muffled groan from above told her that Remy wasn't so lucky. He managed to drag himself back into the building through another open window before collapsing. Rogue followed him in, watching him fumble through his pockets for a makeshift bandage.

"So you just gonna let them come up here and get me?" he asked as he gingerly poked at the wound with a bandana.

"Actually, I was thinking of kicking your leg to make sure you couldn't get away again but that'd just be petty," she said. "On the other hand, you made me lose my place in line; I'm going to have to rethink that pettiness."

The noise from the alley softened. The guards were on their way up.

Remy tied the bandanna off, grunting a little at the pressure. She watched him lean against the wall for balance as he tested the injured leg. If need be, she could always whap his leg with the bag. His leg gave way though, his lips going white with the strain.

"Jesus H. Christ!" He smacked his hand on the floor. "I ain't ever been shot until now. It hurts as much as they say."

Rogue pursed her lips. "I could say something about crime not paying or karmic retribution but I'm really more about action not words so I think I'll just point and laugh."

"That's real cold, sheri."

"Says the guy who sells guns to buy himself a Rolex."

"Good time pieces, them."

The alley was completely silent now. The guards must be in the building.

Remy turned desperate eyes on her. "You know they're gonna shoot first and ask questions later," he said. "I got two marks against me: I'm a mutant and I stole government property."

"Well, you shoulda thought of that before all of this."

"No contingency plan on Earth coulda factored you in, sweet thing." His smile drooped ever so slightly. "C'mon, just hide me or something. You can keep the bag. Just don't let them get me."

If he had smiled at her again, Rogue could have left him without another thought. But there was no masking his desperation and he did have a point about the government. They weren't exactly on Rogue's love list any more.

She peered out the window. No visible guards. They were five floors up and if Remy couldn't even stand on his leg, there was no chance he'd be able to use the fire escape. She looked around at what they had on his level. They were in a dead-end corridor that went for maybe ten yards before turning away. No windows but the one they came in through and no other exits except for the thick sliding doors of an elevator. Rogue grinned.

"Can you get to the elevators?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'll have to do an impression of a jackrabbit but I'll manage."

"Good. Let's go."

One short-circuited scanner later, the doors opened to an underground parking lot. As Rogue took out her cell-phone, she noticed Remy hopping to the nearest car. "What are you doing?"

"Making my getaway?"

He was close enough that she could hit him with the bag. Which she did. His yowl did wonders for her bad mood.

"You're going to sit tight until I call in some friends of mine," she said. "They'll fix up your leg and then deliver you to the proper authorities."

"Yeah that? Not making me all excited about your friends," he said as he sat on the ground massaging his thigh. "Besides, by the time they get here, those guards woulda figured out where we are."

Rogue glared at him. On the one hand, she couldn't let him get away with something as serious as this. He was doing the exact kind of thing that would compromise the mutants like the X-men any, just because she didn't want to stay one forever, it didn't mean that she didn't believe in their goals. On the other hand, she couldn't just have him over to the guards. After Alkali Lake, anything connected to the government gave her the willies.

Damn, she hated how Remy was right. "Fine. But you're not hot-wiring anything. I am."

He whistled. "You got hidden depths, sweet thing. What're you doing on that bus?"

"You're really the last person I want or need to explain myself to," she said. Pulling her gloves off, she cupped his cheek. A welcome side-effect to absorbing his hot-wiring know-how was that the process shut him up.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

* * *

An uncanny silence had draped the school as Rogue pulled up to the main entrance. It felt empty rather, a pointed difference from the quiet of the night or exam time when no one spoke but the building seemed to inhale and exhale with life. She jerked to a stop right in front of the steps, alarm seeping into her stomach. 

"Who taught you how to drive, girl?" groused Remy, releasing his death grip on the dashboard.

"Good ol' boys on back country roads," Rogue answered distractedly. Sliding out of her seat, she hefted the bag back over her shoulder. "Hurry up; I think people are still in."

Hobbling after her, Remy whistled. "You live here? Damn, girl, why'd you ever want to leave? Those doors alone probably cost more than a Mercedes."

Rogue whipped around. "Don't even think about stealing anything. We're going to help you out; stealing from us is just low"

He raised his hands, palms up. "I'm just saying, sheri. I would never do such a thing. There _is_ thing as honour among thieves."

Voices drifted out of the professor's antechamber, the room immediately to the right of the main entrance. Rogue recognized Ms. Munroe, Kitty, Bobby and that blue guy, Hank, but she couldn't quite hear what they were saying until she reached the threshold.

Ms. Munroe's voice came through first. "-- up the students. Tell them we're staying open. Xavier's will always be here for mutants who need help."

"Thank you," said a new voice, male, not quite young enough to be a student. "But before you do anything, I'd like to put all my cards on the table." He cleared his throat. Rogue thought she heard something rustling under his trenchcoat. "My name is Warren Worthington III. My... my dad owns the labs that made the cure."

"I see," said Hank. Rogue came through the door in time to see him get up. "Well, what your father may or may not have done doesn't matter here. Bobby can get you settled and-- what have we got here?"

Rogue smiled weakly. "Hi."

Instantly, the others swarmed her: Bobby nearly knocked her over with his embrace, Ms. Munroe clucked officiously and Kitty grinned, waiting for her turn. Only when their combined enthusiasm pushed Remy against the wall did they notice him.

"We seem to have another enrolment," said Hank.

"Not exactly." Rogue handed Hank the bag. "This is Remy. I caught him breaking into the cure clinic in Vermont stealing medicine for ammo."

"The cure guns I spoke of this morning," Hank told Storm.

"Guns?" Warren's face fell. "This wasn't supposed to be a weapon."

"Well, at two grand a magazine, it's a damn expensive weapon," said Remy. "Easy to convert, too. You just gotta get your hands on a tranq gun, modify the darts to hold a larger dose and pop one in. The real things have magazines that hold six at a time, automatic, of course, but the first shot tend to stick." Rogue and the rest of the room stared in horror. "They're working on fixing that bug."

* * *

Logan returned while Hank fixed Remy up, just in time to see the news report about Magneto taking over the Golden Gate Bridge. Rogue found herself more nervous about facing him again than Bobby or even Ms. Munroe who could and did give her a lecture. 

"I don't think I have to tell you how disappointed I am," she said, arms crossed in front of her desk. "How could you do such a thing, Rogue? After everything the professor-- that all of us-- tried to teach you, how could you deny your gift?"

Rogue crossed her arms, too. "I'm not so sure what I have _is_ a gift."

"Rogue, that is--"

"There was a kid in the clinic," she said, unable to keep from interrupting. "She couldn't stop bone spikes from growing out of her. One was popping out in front of my eyes, Storm. This little kid's always in pain because of her 'gift'. Can you tell me one good reason why she shouldn't take the cure?"

"That's not the same."

"Why not?" demanded Rogue, backing away from the desk. "I been here a year and I can't find anything remotely 'gift-like' about my gift. I don't see why it's so bad to try to fix something genetically wrong with you."

"There is _nothing_ wrong with you."

"Tell that to the little girl," Rogue threw out as she stalked out of the room

Logan ran into her as she was on her way... somewhere. She didn't care where as long as it was away from Ms. Munroe and her perfectly controlled "gift."

"Hey." He grasped her shoulders. "What's the rush? You just got back."

"Oh. Hey." Rogue tugged her sleeves down, a nervous gesture. "I wasn't going anywhere. Nowhere outside of the grounds. I just needed to... get some air."

His lips quirked upward, his gaze shifting from her to Ms. Munroe's office and back. "Cut her some slack. She just got the boss' job with Cyclops and the Professor both gone."

There was a very unwelcome reminder. With both Dr. Grey and the Professor gone, there were no telepaths strong enough to help her out with her mental exercises. If this wasn't a sign to take the cure, nothing was.

Logan pulled her into a rough, one-armed embrace. "We'll get through this, short stuff. You'll see." He led her to a sub-basement elevator, maintaining the awkward contact. Rogue shifted, still too agitated to accept comfort.

"So what'll we do now?" she asked.

"If I know these people-- and it's pretty easy to read them-- we're probably going to San Francisco to try to stop Magneto and his Brotherhood." He clapped her shoulder. "Time to put those Danger Room sessions to work, eh?"

Rogue snorted. "You mean the Danger Room Sessions where I ran around and ducked behind things while everyone else actually had something to do?"

The murmurs from the council room drowned out Logan's response. Rogue swung into a chair beside Bobby who immediately turned to take her hand.

"I'm glad you're back," he whispered.

She smiled and squeezed his fingers. This was why she loved Bobby; without meaning to and completely devoid of artifice, he had a knack of saying the sweetest things at just the right moment.

"Magneto has an army," Storm began. "He is generating the war he's been prophesising for so long. No matter how many armies go against him, no matter how many alliances he will win. He's got Je--" She visibly swallowed. "He's got the Phoenix with him and she's more powerful than any of us can imagine. I don't have to tell you what this means for the entire mutant community. If we manage to take the Brotherhood down, there will surely be a backlash. Now, more than ever, we have to personify this school and the professor's dream. We have to show a united front."

The words felt like arrows straight at her forehead. Rogue let Bobby's hands go to tug down at her sleeves.

"I can give you information on the building," said Warren. "I have clearance for the whole place. I've even met Leech-- uh, I mean, Jimmy, the little boy. He knows me. We have Playstation marathons once in a while."

"Thank you," said Storm.

"Don't forget those cure guns," Wolverine said. "I'll bet the army's going to have them instead of the standard weapons. Probably made of plastic too; they know how Magneto's going to act."

Kitty raised her hand. "Would they have so many of them? I mean, they're pretty new technology right?"

"Remy said the military's probably had the technology for as long as they've been making the cure," Rogue said.

"Yeah but how do we know he's telling the truth?" asked Bobby. "He's a thief."

"We should plan for the worst," said Storm. "Let's assume that everyone will be armed with cure guns and that Magneto will use the Phoenix to destroy the lab and everyone in it in the same way that she... well, using her full power." She cleared her throat. "Warren, there may be a spare uniform in the lockers; Bobby, you can show him. Kitty and Piotr, suit up and prep the Blackbird for any medical emergencies. Rogue, I'll need you to stay here and take care of the students."

"What?" Rogue jumped to her feet. "That's not fair!"

"This isn't a light task," she said. "Someone has to ensure that our guest in the medlab doesn't get sticky fingers. There is also every possibility that this mission will be less than successful. In that case, you'll be safe here to take care of sending all necessary information to Muir Island then taking all the students to a safehouse until someone comes back. If no one does--"

Bobby drew a sharp breath.

"-- you will have to make travel arrangements for everyone either to Muir Island or West Coast Academy, shut down all the computers and destroy both Cerebro and the Danger Room."

"I want to fight," said Rogue.

Storm stared at her steadily. "I know. But you're not ready for this one."

Only Bobby's grasp on her hand kept Rogue from running out of the room.

* * *

Perhaps sensing her temper, Mrs. Rasputin delivered tea and a reuben to the medlab where Rogue sat, fiddling sulkily with the computers. Remy stirred just as the care worn lady left. He had red eyes, Rogue noted when he came fully awake. Instead of whites around his irises, his eyes were matte black. It was kind of creepy and she wondered if it was part of his power. 

"All that for you?" he asked, shifting to a seated position. The blanket slipped from around his shoulders, baring his naked chest. Why the hell he needed to be bare-chested was beyond Rogue's understanding; he'd gotten shot in the leg not his stomach.

She got up to give him half the sandwich. "Knock yourself out. It's not like I'm going to need the energy; I'm stuck here with you."

"Ouch. That mean you don't like my company, sheri?"

If she had Mr. Summers' power, Rogue reflected, Remy would be dust by now. A pang of sorrow tightened her chest at the thought of her teacher. He hadn't known it but he was her favourite of the entire Xavier's staff. She liked his quiet support and he understood what it was like to have an uncontrollable power. He let her work on a classic '67 Chevy Impala, helping her out in shop class even while he was still grieving for Dr. Grey. Alkali Lake messed everything up.

"You get grounded or something for getting the cure?" Remy asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Or something." She might not be a tactical expert or a professional con-man but Rogue knew when someone was fishing for information. Considering the guy's line of work, he probably cased the medlab as soon as his eyes opened. Well, two people could play at that game. "Do you turn everything you touch into a bomb?"

He shook his head, chewed and swallowed. "Nothing alive. And the bigger it is, the longer it takes to charge."

"Just from your hands?"

"Naw, I can charge anything that touches my skin, me." Remy waggled his eyebrows. "Makes for interesting conversation, hein?"

Drawing away, Rogue curled her lip up. "No."

"You're too young to appreciate it, I guess." He bit happily into the sandwich again. It was nearly half gone.

"How did you learn to control it?" she asked. "I mean, you're not charging the bed or the blanket or anything."

"I just do," he said. Without her prompting, he elaborated. "It's like the first time you put clothes on-- you feel the texture and the weight and all. Then after a little while, it's like it's not there any more. When I first got my power I charged everything and, co', I do mean everything." Remy turned to show her his back. Shiny patches of burn scars angled from his right shoulder to the base of his spine. "That was me not getting my clothes off fast enough." He faced her again, this time holding out his arms and hands. "Clothes again. I thought to wear gloves at first but that didn't work. Then things would explode before I could let go. Made it hard to pick pockets, let me tell you."

Rogue almost reached out to touch the scars. "How did you stop?"

"Went out in the middle of nowhere for a week and blew a whole bunch of shit up. That's where I got most of the scars on my hands. Tried to get a feel for the warning signs and then stopping it when I caught them."

He seemed pretty happy to talk about himself so Rogue just passed the other half of the sandwich and the rest of her tea to fuel his mouth.

"It felt kind of like taking a leak." She could help but let out a burst of laughter and he grinned in response. "I could feel the tingles building up and building up and I learned to just hold it the whole day if need be but once a day, I gotta charge something."

"I wish my powers worked like that," Rogue said. "It's more like a switch that's stuck on 'on' and no one's figured out yet how to turn it off. I hate it."

"Brain drain and power snatching sounds pretty cool to me," said Remy. "I could sure use something like that in my line of work. The blowing things up gets handy once in a while if I'm opening up a safe or something but otherwise, it's a party trick. But touching someone and getting into their heads? That there has loads of potential."

"Gee thanks, I guess my guidance counsellor missed a few career options."

Ignoring her sarcasm completely, Remy asked, "The brain drain-- that permanent or only when you're touching someone?"

"Um, sorta permanent I guess."

"What do you mean 'sorta' permanent?"

Flustered, Rogue said, "I... If I concentrate real hard, I can remember the other memories but most of the time, I just kind of tuck them away."

"Why?"

"Because it gets confusing to have voices in your head, that's why."

"Are they actual voices that talk to you or is it like remembering scenes from a movie?"

"I don't know. I never really-- why're you so interested?" Rogue demanded.

Remy's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "I didn't know it was a crime and believe you me, I know about crime. It's just-- damn, girl, I wish we could trade powers. I'd eat my boots to be able to do what you do."

"Try not being able to control it," Rogue snapped. "Try having to watch yourself every second of every day, making sure you don't touch anyone for longer than a couple seconds because if you hang on too long, they go into a coma. I haven't touched--" She took a deep, calming breath. When that didn't work, she marched to the other side of the room, bracing herself against the countertop with her jaw clenched and her fists tight. Damned if she was going to cry in front of a complete stranger.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I couldn't imagine that. People... people need to be touched."

A harsh, curt laugh left Rogue's mouth. "Well, I'm getting homicidal for it. Does that count?"

Well, there was no need to go into a mental breakdown in front of a prisoner either. Or was he a guest? Rogue didn't much care right now; he was the only person she could talk to. She walked back to Remy's bedside.

"You done with the tea?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." As she took the dishes away, he asked. "What does it feel like?"

"Using my powers?"

"Yeah."

Rogue arranged the plate and the mug artfully near the sink and brushed the crumbs off the countertop as she sought an answer. "It's the opposite of what you feel. A slow trickle of... stuff at first, things like immediate thoughts and emotions, whatever's on the top of your mind. Then it's like... something pops and everything rushes in like a bathtub faucet."

"So why don't you just turn the faucet off?"

"Turn the faucet off," she repeated, deadpan. "Wow. Why didn't I think of that before? Congratulations; here's your Nobel Prize." She hoped her glare was sufficient to burn any more idiot thoughts from his head.

Remy raised his hands up, palms out. "It was just a suggestion."

"You think I haven't tried?"

"Y'know what they say: keep on practicing. Here, have a try." His arm snaked out, his hand clamping on her wrist."

"What? No!" She tried to wrest her arm away but he had a firm hold.

"C'mon. What's the harm in testing it out on me?" asked Remy. "I ain't your friend so you don't got to worry about hurting me."

"Why're you pushing this?" Rogue asked, now picking at his fingers, trying to bend them back.

"It's an interesting power," he said simply. "I'm curious."

"You've heard what happens between curiosity and cats."

He shrugged, a nonchalant one-shouldered affair that Rogue was beginning to recognize as a signature gesture. "I figure I got at least another seven so I ain't worried. Besides, do you got anything better to do?"

He had a point, sour as it was. "Fine. You don't have to touch me for me to get your memories."

"What then?" he asked, still not releasing her.

"Smells trigger memories," she found herself explaining. "When I smell things that remind me of a person, the memories come back."

"Can you do the same with powers?"

Rogue shook her head. "We got it figured to a ratio; it's not permanent." Realising what she'd given away, Rogue added, "It still lasts a good long time. And the memories never go away."

Chuckling, Remy said, "That is one of the neatest things I ever heard of. Got a test? Absorb the teacher the night before. Want some access codes? Absorb a security guard. Need some night vision? Absorb a cat."

The image of herself with car ears was so absurd that Rogue couldn't help but laugh, too. "It doesn't quite work like that."

"How _does_ it work?"

Considering her two options, Rogue opted for the one with least contact. "Give me a stick of your gum."

"My... gum." Bemused, he pointed at the plastic bag at the foot of the bed. "All my stuff's in there."

"You smell like cinnamon gum."

"You smell like roses," he quickly countered. "The real thing-- the five-petalled kind that grow in the bush."

Rolling her eyes, Rogue finally pulled free of his hold and headed for the plastic bag. There was only one stick left in his pants pocket; Rogue shook it out and waved it under her nose.

_Lapin rubbed his hands, avarice giving his smile an extra edge that hadn't been existed before the last turf war. "I don't care who it cures; we've already got orders for 'em on the street."_

_11093985-0D304-90104. Sunshine. Butter on toast with a side of café au lait sat near at hand as she typed on her laptop. She was another couple thousand richer._

_A woman's silk-clad toes sliding up her leg, tickling her knee._

_A card sizzled in her hand, absorbing the heat that slid down her arm. The plastic coating burned off first, emitting a burnt-caramel scent. The card left her hands, whining slightly, leaving a trail of bright pink and orange as it sailed to its target._

_The guns rested against a dozen others on a wire rack. Discs hung on the next shelf, each one designed to spit out thirty darts. Cure rifles filled the top rack. Underneath, taking up the whole shelf, was a cannon._

Rogue's brow furrowed. She pressed the gum closer to her nostrils and took a bigger sniff.

_She came around through the back of the garage, closing the chain-link gate carefully behind her. For a job that paid a lot, the digs weren't the best but maybe that was the point._

_Lapin met her at the door with a "Hey, Remy" and a complicated handshake._

_"What do you think?"_

_Her cousin lifted a shoulder. "Won't let me in until you came. Makes me think it's exactly what they say it is."_

_Fingering the deck of cards in his left pocket, she said, "Guns that can get rid of mutants."_

_At that statement, Lapin rubbed his hands, avarice giving his smile an extra edge that hadn't been existed before the last turf war. "I don't care who it cures; we've already got orders for 'em on the street."_

"You're worried about this," Rogue said as she pulled out of the memory.

Remy looked at her strangely. "About what?"

"The cure guns. You're going to sell them but you're worried about it."

"I worry about all sorts of things, sweet thing, but in the end my friends, Benjamin, Ulysses, and Andrew more than make up for it. Ain't the guns that're scary; it's all the stupid people in the world." He lifted his arms and folded them behind his head. "Then again, they make my job a lot easier, too."

"I have to tell the others about the cannon." Rogue rose to head for the hangar but Remy spoke up again.

"What's your hurry?" he said. "There's at least another four hours to prepping that jet. Why don't you practice turning off the faucet a while longer so when you finally tell them, you'll have an argument for going to fight."

Rogue paused. Even though she knew he was just telling her what she wanted to hear, she couldn't help but pause.

"In my not so humble opinion," Remy continued, "you're better off going than that girl who goes through walls. Shadowcat, right? 'Least if you go, you have a two-way offence: knocking people out with the brain-drain then taking their friends out with some borrowed powers."

She turned. He was smiling at her, the smile of a coyote before it pounced on a particularly fat rabbit. "What do you want, really?"

His eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you saying all these things, wanting me to absorb your memories and talk about my powers?" Rogue crossed her arms, leaning away towards the door. "What's your cut?"

"I can't just be interested in a beautiful woman?"

Her lip curling, Rogue said, "First of all, you're not my type. Secondly, I've been in your head and I know all your lines. Thirdly, you're a thief. Just tell me what you want and I'll go see if someone can give it to you 'cause charming me ain't the way to go, swamp rat."

Remy shook his head, a small movement that most would take as surrender. "You cut right to business, sheri."

"I try to avoid bullshit, especially the expensive, fragrant kind now that I've got--" she checked a wall clock-- "less than a day before all hell breaks loose."

"That hurts, it really does." He sighed and tucked himself deeper under the thin hospital blanket. "Even more than losing my payment for this job."

"You want to get paid," said Rogue flatly. "Fine. I'll tell Storm. Anything else?"

"Mais yeah, sweet thing." His expression softened, the cocky smile slipping to a less certain angle. "Promise me you'll work on your powers a while longer before you take the cure. A girl like you with a gift like that shouldn't feel the need to change herself to fit in."

Even knowing he was just playing her and recognizing the con that his own memories spat out at her, the flattery still hit the mark.

* * *

With Cyclops around, prepping the Blackbird took twelve hours on average and that was only because of the jet's many modifications. Once, he and Rogue timed themselves and got through the whole maintenance sequence in ten hours. They were drenched in sweat and incapable of speaking in full sentences by the end but it had been a silly, mechanical-geek sort of fun. Without him, it would have taken a full day but thankfully, Kitty had programmed a systems self-check that took care of half the problems 

Rogue missed the routine she and Mr. Summers set up. Going through the prep procedures with Storm, Bobby, and Mr. McCoy felt bulky and awkward; it was all Rogue could do not to scream at the sluggish pace. Storm would probably continue her flying lessons but it wasn't the same. Storm flew the jet because it was a requirement for missions. Mr. Summers loved to fly and, by example had taught Rogue to do the same.

"How do you think we'll stop Doc, erm, th-the Phoenix?" asked Bobby as he helped her service the hydraulic system. No one could quite make the leap between quiet, gentle Dr. Grey and the Phoenix.

Rogue handed him a wrench back, which had been the wrong size, and waited with barely disguised patience as he rooted in the tool box for the proper one. "I don't know. If her mutant power lets her do whatever she thinks about, maybe we should hit her with that cannon and take her powers away."

He hummed thoughtfully. "That's a good idea. Unless she's powerful enough to disintegrate the darts before they hit her. Hey, can she even undo the effects of the cure once it's in her body?"

Rogue loosened a lug nut, oiled the joint it had held together and tightened it again. "Maybe. Only Storm and Wolvie know how strong she is and they ain't telling us."

"I asked Storm to let you come," Bobby said. "Even if you just stayed with the plane or helped out with injuries or something, at least you'd be able to go."

"Someone needs to co-pilot," Rogue agreed.

"That's what I said, too, but she said the autopilot would work okay because we're not going to be used evasive manoeuvres or anything." He scratched at his arm. "She really wants you to stay here and take care of the school. She said you're the only person who can do it properly."

She must have made a face because Bobby earnestly continued. "She said it she had more reasons to keep you here than not being combat ready. You hung out with Mr. Summers the most and he was teaching you all procedures with the sub-basements and stuff--"

"Only 'cause I couldn't do some of the proper Danger Room exercises. Hand me the rivets for this fillet panel."

Bobby poured the rivets in her open palm. "But still, it's really useful. Look, Storm said she's only taking Kitty 'cause she can sneak in and out without getting hurt. Pete's going 'cause he can't get hurt either. I'm only going 'cause I've got long distance powers."

"Why's the new guy going?" asked Rogue.

"Warren? He's got all the information we need about the compound," said Bobby. "He's actually pretty funny. Nice, too; he's keeping the call-sign Angel just 'cause Kitty suggested it."

"Great. Maybe you all can watch movies and share popcorn on during the in-flight movie." Rogue drilled one of the rivets a little too hard, causing it to drive in at an angle and dinging the panel. Cursing, she reversed the drill to do it over again.

Bobby drew back. "You're being a little unreasonable about this."

"This is the wrong size rivet," said Rogue. "Give me the proper ones, Bobby. You should've grouped them together near the panel so you wouldn't have to dig through all the different kinds."

She felt him step back. "What's wrong with you?"

Exhaling through gritted teeth, Rogue pulled her head out of the hydraulics and turned around to face him. "Nothing's wrong with me except that if I put the wrong rivet into this panel, it'll pierce the tank and you'll have a fuel leak which we're going to have to patch and then we'll have to haul out a half dozen other pieces of equipment so we can refuel the damn jet to make sure you don't drop out of the sky over Colorado. Now can you please give me the proper rivets?"

Silently, he dropped four rivets just the right size into her centre of her gloved hands. Rogue snapped her fingers over them.

"Thank you."

"I'm going to see if Mr. McCoy needs help."

_Way to go, Rogue,_ she scolded herself as Bobby stalked away. _You always do that. You always try to piss off other people when you're pissed off. That's so childish._

The rivets went in smoothly this time without the broken, jarring growls of a misaligned screw.

_Maybe Storm's right about keeping you here. If you can't even control your temper, what's the chance you'll ever control your powers?_

Because no one was around, Rogue didn't have to pretend that something caught in her eye. She sniffled as she performed the rest of the hydraulics checks by herself. The acrid smell of gas flickered in her mind, pressing against some memory synapses that she hadn't known existed.

_The train jerked around a corner and she was thrown to the floor, slipping on a puddle of petrol. Her palm caught on something sharp. The skin ripped; she fancied it sounded like paper. She hadn't had anything to drink since the soldiers leaded her into the railcar. Someone beside her gagged, adding the sourness of vomit to the already putrid interior._

_She glared at the thing that caused her pain. It was a nail, badly driven or perhaps worn through the old wooden floorboards. She knew the nail didn't really cause the pain in her stomach or the throbbing gaps in her gums left by loosened teeth. The nail didn't tear her parents from her arms and made them disappear. But right now the nail was the only thing she could fight._

_So she reached out with all the hatred and agony and desperation and twisted that nail's head off its point._

Rogue gasped, nearly stumbling off the stool. Before her, the fillet panel shook as its rivets twisted in and out of their sockets. The wrench to her left shook as well, a small vibration that hummed down the jet's sheet metal casing.

Just as a thick, invisible blanket was about to wrap around her body, Dr. McCoy called out something-- she never found out what-- and jerked her fully out of the memory. The humming stopped, the rivets stilled, and Rogue held her breath, afraid to smell any more gas.

"Omigod," she whispered. Staring at her hands then at the panel then back at her hands, she repeated the epithet. "Omigod."

Twelve months and two weeks ago, Magneto kidnapped her and forced her to absorb his memories and powers. His personality was so strong that for a week, she couldn't separate his thoughts from hers. She'd constantly felt the ebb and flow of magnetic fields against her skin, like a thick, invisible blanket rustling around her body.

Steadying herself on the opening into the hydraulics' guts, Rogue took another deep sniff--

_The whine of train brakes._

_Mother melting cheese over bread on a fireplace grill._

_Iron was naught but clay._

-- held it.

_She flicked a finger and the bolt unlocked. Flicked another and it locked again._

_Dear God, would Wanda's tooth never come out?_

The electro-magnetic blanket drifted around her hand--

_Cobbles, slippery with mud, in a cold, wet October._

_The magnetic field was an extension of her fingers, her arms, her very will._

-- held it.

The wrench vibrated again. Harder. Rattled the casing like a snare drum.

"Rogue is everything all right over there?" Dr. McCoy's question snapped Rogue's concentration. The wrench fell with a clang.

She stared at it, her eyes wide. "Everything's fine, sir," she said, lifting her hands closer to her face. They still smelled like gasoline.

A secret, pleased grin appeared on Rogue's face.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

* * *

With the engines firing and the all the computerised systems triple checked, Rogue felt comfortable enough to leave the Blackbird in the others' hands. She wanted to have a talk with Storm concerning the mission. 

She found her history teacher in the atrium, staring at a potted lemon tree. That stupid tree bloomed like crazy in the spring time but never had more than one fruit. When it ripened, they'd make a single, perfect glass of lemonade and give it to the younger kids and the newbies to taste. At least, that's what Bobby told her. Last fall, the tree didn't have any fruit at all; Stryker's soldiers had shaken all the blossoms and young fruit off when they tore through the school.

"Scott bought this tree," said Storm. She lightly petted a waxy leaf. "It was his first date gift to Jean. She's crazy about lemons, or anything sour for that matter. We used to joke about--" Her voice faded away. "But I think that may be an uncomfortable joke to hear about your teacher."

Rogue shifted in place. She'd come loaded for an argument against her commanding officer, not a melancholy woman. With a start, she realised she had no idea how old Storm was. With her features, she could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty-five.

"I think I know what you're going to say," said Storm. "And despite the information you've given, I still think you should stay here."

"Do you know how useless that makes me feel?" Rogue claimed.

Storm's face tightened. "It's not just about being in the front lines. I have to distribute the X-Men as I see fit--"

"And you don't think I'm fit."

"I certainly do not appreciate your tendency to refute my orders," Storm retorted. "Rogue, this isn't just about you. If you could step back a moment and see how important protecting the school is, you'd understand that."

"All I understand is that my friends are going to fight a war and I'm not going to be able to protect them." Rogue stepped forward, trying to reach out to make her understand but Dr. McCoy came through Storm's comm-link.

"Magneto's army has all amassed on the Golden Gate Bridge. We have to go now, Storm."

Storm nodded and headed for the door. "Put the jet into full rev and suit up. Tell the others to buckle in as well." As she passed by, Rogue thought she was about to say something but instead, she just patted her shoulder. "Hank, make sure that we have as much medical supplies as usual; when those cure guns fire, we're going to have a lot of injuries on both sides."

"What about Doc-- Phoenix?" Rogue asked. "How are you going to stop her?"

That made Storm paused. She didn't turn to look at the lemon tree so Rogue did it in her stead. "We'll stop her," Storm whispered.

* * *

If you knew where to look, a Blackbird had plenty of hiding spaces. None of them were comfortable but the jet could go from one side of the States to the other in about an hour and a half; Rogue could bear it. Her hiding place was flat but wide, leaving her plenty of room to (quietly) move her arms and legs as she lay on the metal floor. 

During the flight, she practiced recalling powers as much as the boundaries of her hiding place would allow. Erik's magnetic field, John's flames, Pete's metallic form, Bobby's ice, and Remy's charging all fire on and off as she strained to bring their psyches to the front of her mind. She imagined the astral plane that Dr. Grey showed her-- floating islands with giant bonsai trees-- and placed the psyches on their own little islands.

She stayed hidden for another ten minutes after she heard hiss of the door's hydraulics release. When she ventured out, all hell was breaking loose on Alcatraz and the X-Men were right in the thick of it. Kitty was nowhere in sight but Pete and Bobby-- Colossus and Iceman-- stood and fought side by side, unlikely barriers against hundreds of Brotherhood followers. Storm was locked in battle with a long-haired speedster while Wolverine clawed through a half-dozen people on his back. Angel circled above, clashing with other flyers simply by bashing them with his huge wings. Beast blended into the shadows, leaving crumpled, moaning bodies as the only markers of his presence.

Rogue leaned over the roof, searching for an entry angle. A blur in her peripheral vision forced her to dodge to the right.

The blur was actually a huge, bald man with an uncanny resemblance to the Frankenstein monster. "You're dressed like the gene-traitors," he snarled.

"Well, you're dressed like a bad nu-punk video," she retorted. He obviously didn't take too well to the insult because he raised a fist the size of a bowling ball. She rolled away and the impact of his blow left cracks on the concrete roof. Rogue blinked at the sight.

The big guy wasn't done yet. "You think life's so easy, protecting humans just 'cause you're a passer." His other fist went down and, almost before Rogue could avoid it, his right one smashed just behind her, clipping the back of her head. It was enough to send stars whirling around her head.

"I'm sorry you're ugly," Rogue said, shaking the dizziness away. "But I really can't--" she dodged another fist-- "talk right now--" she jumped backwards-- "I've got to find-- oh, to hell with it."

Snatching her gloves off-- thank God for wrist snaps-- Rogue dove for her opponent's bare arms. They were so huge and his strength so great that hanging on was a feat unto itself. Gradually, the memories started sinking in.

_She crushed bricks into powder, making room for others in his den._

_Special ed! Special ed! Big, fat, loser's in special ed!_

_Magneto was right. He'd been kicked all his life even though he was big and strong._

Rogue let go as the big guy-- _Sunder, he called himself Sunder_-- tilted floorwards. She felt her body growing more solid, not a visible change but a heaviness in each cell. Her hands felt weighed down.

"What did you do. gene traitor?" Another Brotherhood mutant came screeching down at her, her cat-like claws aimed straight for Rogue's neck. Too sluggish still from her absorbed power, Rogue could only leaned back and brace herself for pain.

She didn't feel a thing.

The other mutant bounced right off. Yowling in rage, she pounced Rogue again. This time, Rogue swung her arms out. Her forearms connected with a sick crunch and the cat-like mutant sailed to the other side of the roof, unconscious. Leather shreds of her uniform flapped in the air, sliced through by the other mutant's claws, but Rogue's skin was unmarred.

"Nice." Absorbing Sunder had been a bit of good luck but she could already feel his personality fading. Rogue ran back to his still unconscious body to absorb a few more minutes' worth of invulnerability and strength. As she pressed one bare hand against Sunder's cheek, she searched for a token with another. Sniffing him was the _last_ option; even without his memories swimming in her head, she could tell that it had been a while since he'd seen a shower.

With enough absorbed power and a better sense of how to carry it, Rogue made a flying leap into the fray.

"Rogue?" Wolverine just stopped short of spearing her through. "You're supposed to be back home."

"Rogue!" Bobby's reaction was much more welcome; his smile was equal parts relief and excitement. "I knew you'd find a way to get-- behind you!"

Rogue ducked the blast of ice that Bobby threw over her left shoulder. Someone screamed but she didn't have time to see who because there was a scaly-faced guy swinging a pipe at Bobby's head. She pulled Bobby down and stood over him. The pipe clanged against her head and came away with a substantial curve. It had felt like a pat on the cheek.

"Wha-bzuh?" Bobby stared at her, wide-eyed.

She laughed, pulling him up by the sleeve. "Come on, Iceman. Let's put that cannon out of commission."

He pulled away to shoot a few fast ones in a sideways arc. "They've already fired them once," he said. "It's all made of plastic so Magneto can't do a thing about them but he's got a mutant with--"

"Heads up!" Rogue twirled to one side, punching out several mutants then quickly rolled behind Bobby to take out a few more.

"Thanks," he said. "Yeah, some mutant with shock-waves took out two of the cannons. They're running on rifles and one empty cannon."

Rogue searched the bridge. There was Magneto, like a king over-looking his pawns, a queen on one side and a jester on the other. Pyro wouldn't like being called a jester and she was fiercely glad she thought of that analogy. "We should be getting rid of Magneto. He's the head of the snake."

"What are you doing here, Rogue?" Storm flew in on a gale, whipping sand into Rogue's eyes. Invulnerability didn't cover dust, she thought. "Who's taking care of the school?"

"I've done all the backups and shutdowns that you told me to," said Rogue. "And Mrs. Rasputin knows evac-ops as well as I do."

"I gave you an order."

"With all due respect, Storm, there's seven of you against an army of them." She waved her hand towards the bridge. "You could use as many hands as possible."

Storm threw out a lighting bolt at a small mob of approaching mutants, sending them cracking against a cylindrical tank. The smell of gasoline filled the air. "We'll talk about this later. For now, just keep this line."

"Yes, ma'am." Rogue took a deep sniff of the gas fumes. A blanket of magnetic energy whipped around her body.

_Iron was but clay in her hands._

_I will not see my people destroyed again._

Rogue raised her hands over her head and _pulled_. Two cars shot straight into the air; she felt their weights like tennis balls balanced shakily in the palm of her hand. Throwing her shoulders back, Rogue braced her feet and heaved the cars towards Magneto's inner circle. Another car lay crumpled near the base of the bridge; Rogue pulled it out of the rubble, unbalancing the bridge.

_The magnetic field was an extension of her fingers, her arms, her very will._

A half dozen loose orange cables that once held the bridge up shivered. Like charmed snakes, they writhed up, whipping across the bridge and crashing down on the Brotherhood's army. Magneto threw a protective shield over his inner circle, tearing apart the cars and reforming them with a speed that Rogue found astounding.

Her knees shaking, Rogue lowered her arms. Lordy, that last trick cost her. She'd already lost Sunder's invulnerability somewhere between transitioning into Magneto's powers and she hadn't even managed to hit him. She needed to find something else to throw at him.

Even as she scanned the vicinity for another mutant to absorb, the Phoenix rose, both light and darkness haloing her floating body. She pointed at a group of soldiers; they disintegrated into dust. With her other hand, she dissolved one of the soldiers' barricades, leaving them vulnerable to the mutants waiting on the other side. A great, roaring slurp dragged water away from the island only to form a huge wave half a mile away, at least a thousand feet high and growing.

"Wolverine!" Rogue yelled, looking for the signature muttonchops and double-pointed hair. Two leap-frogging mutants surrounded him, moving too quickly for him to catch with his claws.

Rogue rubbed at the bandanna she'd ripped out of Sunder's jacket. The scent of greasy fast food take-out and musty towels wafted up to her nostrils. Rogue closed her eyes, held it... Strength seeped back into her body, heaviness in her limbs. Now how did Colossus deal with big masses of people?

Oh, yeah.

Rogue crashed through the crowd, head down, shoulders braced, recalling shades of linebackers that she'd watched in the football crazy town of Meridian.

Wolverine took advantage of his opponents' distraction to snag one by the neck. His adamantium knuckles cracked against the guy's temple and he fell, out cold. "Hey, short stuff. Storm give you detention yet?"

"I'm beginning to think it's going to be stable duty for life." Rogue swung her arm out at the other mutant but he jumped over it. Instead, her arm bent a lamp post in half. Logan kicked out, catching the froggish mutant in midleap. As he fell, Rogue used the downed lamp post as a bat to finish the job.

Whistling, Wolverine said, "What did you put in your Wheaties, kid?"

She beamed. "I told you to eat more spinach. Have you seen Iceman?"

Wolverine nodded to the right. "He's holding the building with Colossus and some of the soldiers. Shadowcat hasn't come out yet."

"Dang. I was kind of hoping he could help us with that." She pointed at the wave.

"Holy shit," said Wolverine in an otherwise calm tone. "Do you think your boyfriend can handle that?"

Rogue shrugged. "It's worth a try. Maybe if he helped Storm out--"

As though conjured by devotees, Storm landed behind their shelter, crackling with lighting and thunder, her lips set in a frown. She nodded at Magneto. "We need to take them out."

With a wry twist to his mouth, Wolverine said, "Yeah, you think?" They all ducked as an explosion threw shrapnel in all directions with uncanny accuracy. Wolverine glared so hard through the barricade, Rogue felt sure Magneto sensed it. "They're a pretty tight team. We'll have to take 'em out altogether."

"I can get the Phoenix," Rogue said cautiously. "If I absorb her power--"

Wolverine made a cutting gesture. "No way, kid. I don't care if you absorb every mutant on this island right now; you're not getting within ten feet of the Phoenix. Hell, even if you absorb every mutant on this island, you _couldn't_ get within ten feet. She's..." His eyes darkened into what might have been fear.

Surprisingly, Storm didn't dismiss the idea immediately. "What other choice do we have?"

Wolverine stared at the Phoenix as she floated with sickening grace over a growing number of dust mounds. "I could take her. Whatever she throws at me, I can heal."

"Not if she does it quickly enough," Storm countered. "She's growing more powerful by the minute."

"I can absorb her, take away some of her power so you can go in and... and... do whatever." She couldn't quite maintain her self-assurance as the wave roared closer. If it hit, it would drown the entire island.

"Neither you or Colossus can take Magneto and besides, Colossus is the only student who could protect Jimmy even without his gift," Storm continued, her logic deepening the furrows on Wolverine's forehead. "You and Rogue have to team up on this."

"Fine," Wolverine growled. "You sure you have handle this, kid?"

Rogue nodded. "I'm pretty sure."

"We don't have room for 'pretty sure'. You can do it or you can't, " he said bluntly.

"I can do it," said Rogue with more confidence. "I can take her."

Storm nodded. "Good. You and Wolverine head over to the Phoenix. Colossus can continue aiding Angel and the soldiers after he's taken Jimmy to the safety of the Blackbird. Bobby will take care of Pyro while Shadowcat, Beast and I neutralise Magneto."

"And how do you propose to do that?" asked Wolverine.

At that moment, a glint of stainless steel caught Rogue's eye. Her two instructors must've seen it as well because they all turned with her to stare at it. A broken cure gun cartridge lay six feet away, four of the six darts still intact and filled with green fluid.

* * *

The asphalt at her back smelled like scorched sugar and gas. Heat stung through Rogue's Kevlar. She wiped her forehead and the feel of skin-- even her own-- startled her for a moment. She couldn't hear a thing over the roar of the chaos that the Phoenix had created. 

With the wave roaring closer, the din from the two armies and the shouts from civilians, Rogue couldn't hear Wolverine's approach. She braced her hands on the edge of the upturned asphalt slab and peeked through her fingers. Rogue barely recognized Dr. Grey-- she looked possessed. If it was possible to glow with darkness, she was doing it. Blackness shone from her skin, throwing every tendon and vein in bizarre relief. Her hair whipped up like a flame, catching the very real flames from her eyes. She looked like a goddess, terrible and beautiful at the same time.

Wolverine stood before the Phoenix, his body tilted forward against the energy she threw at him. Patches of his uniform, his flesh, the metal off his bones burnt off and regenerated, over and over again. It must have been painful but he silently gritted on, his jaw locked resolutely.

In the distance, Bobby's ice fought head to head with Pyro's flames, the blunt strength of the elements creating pools of water and clouds of steam. Storm shot bolt after bolt of electricity at Magneto while keeping his lackeys at bay with gusts of wind. Beast and Shadowcat, as planned, were nowhere to be seen. Rogue hoped they would come soon-- the rest of the Brotherhood's army were becoming wise to Storm's powers. They trickled into the island to distract Bobby and Angel who was the only X-Men on aerial defence for this operation.

Meanwhile, she stayed hidden behind a barricade just like all those Danger Room sessions.

Rogue didn't know how long she could wait. With every step, more and more of Wolverine's flesh sloughed off as the antithesis of Dr. Grey floated higher. Wolverine's tenacity seemed to anger her. The tidal wave now surrounded the island in thousand foot wall of water; chunks of concrete, cars, thick steel bars all orbited the Phoenix; the island groaned as she tore it apart in an attempt to destroy Wolverine.

He walked on.

Rogue bit her lip as she pictured the clean, smooth wall of her mental shields. Dr. Grey taught her the basics of telepathic shielding and, as she predicted, they grew stronger in the constant presence of telepaths but the Phoenix didn't have Dr. Grey's sense of morality. She wouldn't have any qualms about breaking down mental shields. Rogue just hoped that the Phoenix's immense power only manifested in telekinesis and not with telepathy or they'd all be screwed.

"Jean!" she heard Wolverine shout. "I know you're in there."

Instead of words, the Phoenix hurled half a car at him. Rogue dropped back under the asphalt before she could see the projectile connect. A self-disgusted breath later, she stuck her head back up. Wolverine hugged the ground, ducking under the car which was now rolling out to the sea like a dustball.

"Jean!" he called out again. As he pushed himself up, Rogue saw that half his face was missing. She covered her mouth, afraid she'd either throw up or scream, both of which would give the plan away. She only had to wait a few more yards.

Wolverine dug his claws like a climber up a cliff as the Phoenix continued to flay him telekinetically. Rogue didn't know how much more he could take; she didn't know how much more _she_ could take watching him. The last two yards stretched out into painful miles; the closer Wolverine got to the Phoenix, the more damage she inflicted not only to him but to the rest of the island. Rogue couldn't even see the Golden Gate Bridge anymore if it even still existed.

At last, Wolverine stood within arm's reach of the Phoenix. Her fury melted Rogue's hiding place. She stepped away, scanning for a new hiding place and finding none. She had to go up.

"You would die for them?" the Phoenix demanded, her tone threatening.

"No," said Wolverine quietly. "No, Jean. I'd die for you."

A bright gathering of energy flowed up to the Phoenix's face. She floated lower, her toes inches from the ground. If ever there was a time for action, this was it. Rogue scrambled up from the base of the debris, her view of Wolverine obscured by the Phoenix's jacket, and jumped up on the Phoenix's back. Her bare hands locked under the Phoenix's chin while her legs came around and crossed around her waist.

The Phoenix screeched. Rogue felt pressure all around her body, like a huge clamp trying to wrench her off. Tensing every muscle in her body, she pressed closer to the Phoenix and hung on tight. Her skin… her skin burned.

Lights exploded in Rogue's brain. Heat poured down her arms, sluicing down her veins and burning her heart. Her head snapped back, jaw dropping in a scream that she barely registered as her own. She heard a million voices and felt a thousand sensations but saw nothing but white heat. The whiteness grew and grew and grew until there was nothing at all except Rogue and the Phoenix and the want and the need.

Then there was nothing at all.

* * *

_Floating islands bobbed above a turquoise ocean. Bonsai-like trees grew profusely, their roots hanging free as they made their way to the water-- pines, maples, yews, firs all chained together by delicately arcing boughs of climbing roses. Rogue bent to sit on a tree root, only to jump up as thorns pricked her skin._

_"What is this place?" Rogue asked Dr. Grey, rubbing discreetly at her rear._

_"This is the astral plane," she answered._

_"This is what psychics see?"_

_"Not really. This is what I want to see. Call it a long-repressed princess syndrome." She smiled self-deprecatingly. Waving a hand, the islands, oceans, trees, icy misted away into the school's rose garden. "That's more familiar."_

_Shyly, Rogue said, "I kind of liked the other place."_

_"Well, then next time we have this exercise, we'll do it there," said Dr. Grey. "For now, I want you to be able to focus on someplace tangible. It'll make it easier for you to meditate when I'm not there."_

_Doubtfully eyeing the grassy patches between the rosebushes, Rogue said, "I'm not to good at thinking about nothing. We used to do some meditation in my old school for Health class and all I could ever meditate on was how stupid I felt."_

_"Mediation doesn't have to be about nothing," said Dr. Grey. She sat cross-legged on the grass and patted the area in front of her in invitation. "It takes a long time to learn how to meditate properly. I don't even do it properly sometimes. We need to do it-- telepaths especially-- as a sort of mental cardio exercise, a way to block out everything except our power."_

_"Okay." She sat down in the same position and rested her hands on her knees. "Is this like that shielding exercise you showed me last week?"_

_Dr. Grey nodded. "A bit. The professor and I have been studying your powers since you arrived last week and we think it might be at least partially psionic-based. There's a telepathic or empathic element to it as well as a physical." Seeing her bemusement, Dr. Grey explained further. "We think that your skin is a trigger for a psionic power kind of like how a switch turns on the light. The switch itself doesn't produce the light but when you press on it, it sends a signal to the bulb to turn on. The problem right now is that your switch is over-sensitive; it turns your power on at every contact instead of when you want it to."_

_"So, this meditation will help me learn how to keep the switch off?" said Rogue slowly._

_"It'll build up your mental muscles so that when we figure everything out, you'll know what to flex."_

_"Okay." Rogue straightened. "How long did it take you to get a hang of your powers?"_

_She couldn't be sure because Dr. Grey brushed a strand of hair out of her face but Rogue thought that she saw anger in how Dr. Grey's forehead wrinkled and how her eyes kind of glowed. But when her hand moved, her expression was as smooth and soft as always with that little smile always playing in one corner of her lips. "I'm still learning, Rogue. Psionic abilities are some of the most powerful so, of course, they'd be a royal pain to control."_

_"Wonderful." Rogue sighed, her posture going all to hell again._

_With a full-blown smile, Dr. Grey leaned over to rub her shoulder. "I have faith in you, Rogue. At the risk of sounding like a PBS commercial, I think you're capable of doing anything you want to. You just have to gain a little more confidence."_

_That _did _sound like a PBS commercial but Rogue decided she didn't care this once._

* * *

There was nothing at all. 

Then the darkness grew and grew and grew until she heard a million voices and felt a thousand sensations and saw shades of darkness fluttering behind her eyelids like bats swarming a cave.

Rogue opened her eyes.

The whiteness had spots.

She squinted. And seams?

She closed her eyes, counted to ten then opened them again.

The whiteness was actually kind of blue like the medlab. She blinked a few more times until the medlab ceiling came into focus. An IV hung to her left, the contents of the bag mostly gone. Turning her head-- lordy, that hurt!-- she found Bobby sleep on his arms on her bed's one free strip of mattress. Forgotten school books lay stacked on the night stand with the greasy remains of a meal on top of that.

Rogue let her hand fall on Bobby's curls.

"Hrmmmf?" He burrowed into his arms. "Five more minutes, Dr. McCoy."

She started to smile but her lips were too cracked. Blech! Her mouth was all fuzzy; it probably smelled like something crawled in there and died! Maybe it was a good thing that Bobby didn't wake up yet.

"Rogue!"

Whoops, spoke too soon. Bobby had jerked to his feet, pleasingly ecstatic to see her.

"You're awake! I thought-- Hang on, let me call Dr. McCoy to just... Wait, are you feeling...?" He grabbed at the curls on top of his head. "Just... don't sleep again, okay?" He ran out of her field of view, probably to use the intercom by the door.

Closing her eyes again, Rogue catalogued the hurts. Something was stuck up her nose, probably those nose breathing thingies like on TV. A sharp pain was shooting from her leg. Her entire head felt like it was washed and bashed by a medieval laundrywoman. Even her hair hurt.

"Hey you." She opened her eyes again to see Bobby's forcibly cheerful face. Bags purpled his lower eyelids and pink tinged his eyes.

"Hey," she replied. Her voice sounded raspy and her mouth tasted as foul as it felt. "We win?"

Bobby took her hand once more and Rogue became aware of his thin cotton gloves. No wonder her hands felt cold. "You bet we did. You shoulda seen Pete; he went all Hulk on us. And Kitty helped Beast put down Magneto. They pumped all six darts in him just to be sure he didn't come back. But you... you were the best. When we saw you up there, hanging onto the Phoenix, I---" He swallowed audibly. "And then you fell. We thought you'd never wake up." His voice cracked.

Dr. McCoy's gentle bass interrupted his story. "Truly, she was a sight to behold." When she turned her attention to him, he grinned, teeth and fangs bright against his dark fur. "Ah, welcome back young lady. Bobby, could you please inform Lady Braddock that the hero of the hour has regained consciousness?"

"Sure thing, sir." Bobby still wasn't in view but Rogue heard his footsteps-- hard and fast-- thunking on the metal floor, receding in volume as he left.

"Can you speak?" asked Dr. McCoy as he continued his examination.

"Yeah." The response came out as a croak so Rogue licked her lips and repeated it. "Yeah. I'm thirsty."

"Ah, of course. I can't give you water but I have some ice chips you may suck on." He tipped several small chunks of ice in Rogue's mouth. Sighing contentedly, Rogue endured the rest of the examination with less fear.

"That was a very brave thing you did, my dear," said Dr. McCoy as he palpated her stomach. it tickled but if she laughed, Rogue knew a whole bunch of new hurts would make themselves known so she held back. "I read through your medical files, the ones about your gift. It could not have been easy to contain the Phoenix."

"It worked?"

"Perfectly. In fact I would say that-- oh, good evening, Betsy." Hank turned his head towards someone that Rogue couldn't' see and she was really a little too woozy to try moving her head again.

"Hello, Dr. McCoy." A tall, blonde woman leaned over Rogue, clinically taking in monitor readings. "Hello Rogue. My name is Betsy Braddock. I'm the resident telepath at Muir Island Academy. Can you follow my finger please?" She held up her index finger and moved it from left to right, up and down several times. "Good. Now, I need you to relax while I pop into your mind for a tick."

After snapping on a pair of gloves, she splayed her fingers lightly at several points on Rogue's scalp. She had the sensation of butterfly wings brushing against her head then a sudden breeze, like her sinuses were clearing.

_Hello there, love._ Even Betsy's astral voice had an accent. _That's because that's how I speak. You language and aural centres are very tightly associated although not as much as scent and memory. I'm sure you'll cover it in biology soon._

_How come I don't see the astral plane?_ asked Rogue.

_You're a lot more advanced than I've been led to believe if you can already manifest structures in the astral plane._

_I didn't,_ Rogue confessed. _Dr. Grey took me there. We meditated in the rose garden, the astral version._

_Even then, to be able to move about consciously on a psionic construct._ Betsy whistled. _And I can see why. I'm only scanning superficially and your consciousness is reacting in a very mature manner._

_That could just be the Phoenix's powers still sticking,_said Rogue. _How long was I out?_

A soothing wave washed down Rogue's back. _You've been unconscious for two weeks, love. Four of those days, you were clinically comatose. It was very much touch and go for a while._

If Rogue hadn't already been in bed, she'd've fallen over. As it was, a shaky feeling went to her knees and her breath came in short. The beeping from the EKG machine behind her sped up.

_Easy now,_ said Betsy. _Wouldn't want all the good doctor's work to go to waste, would we?_

_Am I okay?_ Rogue demanded. _I mean, does everything work?_

_That's what I'm trying to find out. _Betsy's fingers pressed harder against her skull. _This may hurt a bit._

A slim, sharp object slid into her consciousness like a psychic blade. Rogue winced, bunching the blankets in her fist. It didn't hurt precisely; it was more like sharp pressure in parts of her head with a nails-on-chalkboard sensation thrown in.

"I'm not sure if anyone accurately explained what happened after you touched the Phoenix," Dr. McCoy said, presumably to distract her. "Something manifested-- a huge phoenix made of flame that enveloped the both of you. Its wingspan nearly crossed the island."

"I felt it all the way over in England," said Betsy. "I'm certain there are a thousand telepaths and empaths who nursed migraines that day."

"We thought it was the end," said Dr. McCoy softly. "Then the phoenix disappeared, leaving you and Jean Grey's body in midair. Your friends' quick thinking saved your life; Bobby created an ice slide and Shadowcat caught and phased with you just as you were about to crash into debris."

"Good training," said Rogue. The pressure moved, bringing up a burnt caramel smell. "How's Dr. Grey?"

Dr. McCoy's eyes dropped; Betsy glanced at something in the far wall. Rogue suddenly understood the fullness in her head even as her stomach hollowed.

"Jean..." Dr. McCoy couldn't continue so Betsy took over.

"She didn't make it," she said softly. "Wolverine had to--"

"Betsy, she doesn't need to know that," protested Dr. McCoy.

Rogue shook her head. It was a bad idea; the room started to spin. She shut her eyes to calm things down. "Please, I have know."

Heaving a deep breath, Dr. McCoy stepped away and pinched the bridge of his nose. Betsy continued. "Wolverine had to kill her body. We may never know if Jean Grey could have returned but I suppose the risk was too great."

Rogue thought she heard Dr. McCoy snort but everything was starting to fuzz over again. "Is everyone else... okay?"

"Aside from some minor injuries, yes. The new school year has begun and thanks to the Alcatraz incident, we're actually holding more teacher interviews to manage the increased enrolment." Dr. McCoy smiled weakly. "Warren may have started a trend of students wandering in as opposed to being recruited."

"Speak for yourself," Betsy said. "We have all sorts walking into Muir Island. Some strays, we even keep."

Their words prompted Rogue's memory. "What about Remy-- the guy who was, ow, stealing the cure?

"He wasn't here when he returned," said Dr. McCoy

Rogue winced. She'd been afraid that would happen. "He took the cure darts, didn't he?"

"Thankfully, no, but the BMW is missing along with several laptops and a few prescription medicines that will undoubtedly make their way into the streets. He might have also attempted to access our databases but fortunately, the encryptions held true."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought he'd be too hurt to leave."

"He _is_," said Dr. McCoy. "That bullet cracked his femur. At best, he'll get an infection; at worst, the bone will heal badly and he'll be left with a permanent limp. Alas, I do not think forethought is Remy's strong-point."

"I'm confused," Betsy said both aloud and telepathically, abruptly drawing away from Rogue. Rogue's heart quickened its pace. What was wrong with her now?

"Is something wrong?" Dr. McCoy voiced her concern.

"She's healthy as a horse, Henry. _That's_ what's worrying me. Someone without at least beta-level psionic abilities should be dead, it's simple as that. Brain-dead at best, not up and conscious and making lucid conversation."

Rogue cracked her eyes open again. "How... why aren't I braindead?"

Dr. McCoy took the floor. Patting her shoulder over the covers, he said with gravity and not a little pride, "It must be your mutation. Whatever part of your body that allows you to absorb other mutations is so flexible that it simply changed your entire system to allow for a Class 5 mutation to nearly seamlessly blend into your body." He shook his head, removing his glasses and wiping them on his shirt. "We'll have to run more tests to be certain but from the information we took while you were unconscious, you may have telekinesis from now on."

"But that should be impossible," said Betsy. "It would mean a complete change in her DNA and uncharted neuron plasticity to be able to contain telekinesis on that level of-- it _should_ be impossible."

"We'll run a few more tests to be sure. There will undoubtedly be effects that we cannot yet understand especially after reading Jean's medical files. After Rogue has sufficiently recovered." Dr. McCoy patted Rogue's arm. "Are you all right with that?"

Rogue shrugged then winced when every muscle and nerve on her right side protested against the movement. "I guess. As long as they're not calculus tests."

Betsy was still staring at her, "We often talk about our mutations as gifts but if what Hank says is true, if you _have_ somehow managed to transmute a Class 5 with only a two-week coma and a headache to show for it, you are truly gifted, Rogue."

Warmth flowed from her temples to her toes. A bird with far-seeing green eyes blazed in her mind's eye, black and orange wings spread wide to waft the scent of roses. . Rogue smiled and although her lips chapped, she didn't mind at all. "I know."


	4. Author Notes

**Author Notes**

1) I tend to go a little crazy looking for titles. The working title for this one was "Doubtful Gift" which changed to "Doubtful, Gifted"; neither satisfied me completely. Roses came into play when I went back to my favourite source of themes-- fairy tales. Rae suggested that Rogue was Beast from "Beauty and the Beast". I flipped over this of course because my favourite film of all time Is Disney's "Beauty and the Beast." 

The fairy tale is often interpreted as a coming of age story. When arranged marriages were the norm, the tale advised the young girl to accept an arranged marriage to a beastly older man. In modern readings, it's about accepting her sexuality as a part of growing up. Another popular theme is a woman's love taming the bestial or wildness in men.

Since this particular story is gen (yay!), both the Beauty and the Beast characters are in Rogue. Seeing her powers as a beast, she isolates herself and even goes as far as to try to kill the beast within. It's only when she accepts her powers and loves herself that the "beast" transforms.

Roses, long time symbols of love and beauty, feature heavily in the Beauty and the Beast folktales. Once again, because Rogue sees herself as a beast, she gives this symbol to herself after learning to appreciate her powers and, by association, herself. The significant difference here is that she doesn't love the rose despite of the thorns but that she loves the thorns which have a lovely rose as a side-benefit. ;)  
/dissertation

2) SR-71 Blackbirds takes approximately 24 hours to prep even with a highly trained crew. The X-Jet is obviously modified to the nth degree but I still doubt that you could turn it on and off like a car.

3) The amygdala is the part of the cerebrum that processes and stores emotional reactions. It's also heavily involved in sensing smells, putting things in long-term memory and responding to emotions. That's part of the reason why people get so much comfort from home-cooking; the smell of food from your childhood brings back more carefree times (hopefully). /biology dork

4) Yes, I know the movie supposedly had a "Psylocke" but I'm pretending that was Kwannon!Psylocke. The one featured here is Lady Betsy Braddock-- blonde, blue-eyed, and a female Captain Britain. Despite great temptation, I didn't switch her mind with a Japanese assassin's because we've already got way too many body switches in this story. This doesn't really matter since there will be no sequels (please God) but at some point in the future, she'll have camera-eyes.

5) Hah! I wrote Gambit and Rogue in the same story WITHOUT shipping them. :P to you, Rae!


End file.
